


The Interview

by springburn



Series: The Thick of It mini-fics [64]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Brexit, F/M, Interviews, Malcolm Tucker speaks, Marriage, Politics, The Past, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-02-16 02:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21500038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: Malcolm has agreed to be interviewed on the BBC. Now he's not sure it's such a wise move!
Relationships: Malcolm Tucker & Original Female Character(s), Malcolm Tucker/Original Character(s)
Series: The Thick of It mini-fics [64]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/247540
Comments: 23
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm arrives at the studio. He's beginning to regret his decision to be interviewed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will make no apologies for not posting anything on the Archive for such a long time. 
> 
> Life has dramatically changed in the last six months or so since I finished New Rules.  
> The past year has been difficult to say the least. Only now am I beginning to emerge into the light again.  
> I'm afraid that fandom very much takes a back seat now. Family, true friends and reality are far more important. Leaving behind most social media is the best thing I could possibly have done. For me.  
> I still admire Peter just as much as ever but I now do so in an environment in which I feel comfortable. 
> 
> But enough of that. 
> 
> I started this story last May. I haven't picked up a pen since. So this is very much a reawakening as far as writing is concerned.  
> I don't know how long the story will be, or how good or otherwise it'll turn out. It'll be as long as a piece of string! It'll be as good or bad as the reader thinks. 
> 
> I hope people enjoy it. There's quite a lot of politics in it, and I must emphasise that it's not mine! My political leanings are not a part of this tale.  
> It isn't quite set in the present day, so after the European referendum but before Boris and Trump. Say around 2016/17.  
> The Thick of It aficionado's will remember Claire Ballantine from the show. I really liked her character and hoped she'd appear again, but she didn't.  
> Emily is obviously a real interviewer and journalist, not one I'm fond of, and that is one of my reasons for choosing her.  
> The story is set around 5 years after New Rules and is in the same au. 
> 
> As always, I look forward to comments, and appreciate any support I receive. That's one of the best parts of writing something and posting it on a public forum.

THE INTERVIEW. 

Malcolm was not really enjoying the stuffy ambiance of the Green Room. 

The place where 'celebrity' guests were supposed to mingle over a glass of wine and what can only be described as some dried up looking nibbles sitting on a bed of wilted lettuce which went under the erroneous title of canapés. 

Fortunately this particular current affairs programme was not a panel type, nor was it one where the participants sat in a row on, frankly, fucking uncomfortable chairs waiting for their turn to be grilled.  
No.  
This was a more simple format. 

One to one. 

Just Malcolm Tucker v Emily Maitlis. 

But before the 'interrogation' one had to go through the accepted motions. Pretend to smile and be nice. 

To his surprise, one of the other guests this evening was Claire Ballantine MP. She of the Education Select Committee from his dim and distant past. She, who could easily have been Party Leader instead of Nicola Fucking Murray......or even Prime Minister, had she not pulled out of the race when Tom Davis was still clinging limpet-like to office.  
At the time Malcolm cared little about the online gambling exposè which had scuppered those plans. In his eyes she would have made a fine Captain, and a far superior Prime Minister. She was competent, calm and intelligent. Well fitted for leadership.  
Had she taken on the role, his own life and career may have followed an entirely different and more rewarding path.  
He might even still be in politics.  
Who knew? 

Too late now. Far too late. 

A sigh left him. 

It was all such a long time ago. 

Water under the bridge. 

So many things might have happened. Or not. 

Either way he was happy now.  
More happy than he'd ever been in his entire life, and politics no longer mattered. 

Neither he nor Claire were acquainted with the other two guests on that nights show. So naturally they gravitated to one another. 

The smile she gave him as a greeting was genuine. 

"Why! Malcolm. What a surprise, you're looking very svelte." 

Malcolm frowned. 

"Svelte is it? What the fuck does that mean!" 

His old colleague laughed. 

"You're looking fit and healthy, and a darn sight more relaxed than I've ever seen you....in spite of being here!" She responded warmly.  
Her eyebrows then raised in question before the words left her mouth. "What on earth _are_ you doing here anyway?" She gestured about her expansively. 

"I'm asking myself the same fucking question." He replied, as she ignored his outstretched hand and went in for a hug and a continental two sides cheek kiss, taking him rather on the hop. 

The years had been kind to her too. Her frizz of curly hair still present, her frame barely altered. Very few lines on her face. He told her so. She accepted the compliment graciously. 

"How's life treating you?" He asked as he was released from the gentle hold. 

"Oh, not bad. Still fighting my corner from the back benches. Still trying to make a difference. I run work shops for people who have a gambling addiction now. We try to offer support and advise and practical help." 

She seemed momentarily wistful, but the look faded as quickly as it appeared. 

"Good for you." Malcolm said, with genuine feeling. "I've nothing but admiration." 

Claire smiled with a wide and pleasing smile. 

"Why thank you!" 

She seemed perplexed by this Malcolm. Quite different from the one who had once been the terror of Downing Street. 

"Mind you....it would be a fucking sight easier if there weren't constant betting adverts at every commercial break on the sports channels eh? It's no good Harry Redknapp and bloody Ray Winstone telling us to 'bet responsibly', then showing us just how easy it is to do it. Not to mention all those fucking Tombola type ads as well. They get on my wick." 

"You're so right!" Her reply was enthusiastic, her eyes shining as she realised that Malcolm was clearly on side with her on her chosen subject. 

"I hear you have a family now." She ventured then, sipping from the glass of wine in her hand and then grimacing. "Christ!" She breathed. "Don't drink that whatever you do....it's like carpet cleaner." 

"Don't worry. I won't." He held up his tonic water as if for inspection. "This is my limit these days." 

"Ah." Nodding in understanding. "Very sensible. Wish I could give it up, but I have to have one vice and sex is sadly out of the equation." 

Malcolm felt himself blush uncomfortably. 

"So....family?" She continued, unabashed.

"Yes. A girl. Alice. Named after Liv's mother and my grandmother. She's nearly five now." 

"Five? Wow!" The MP's eyes widened. "Bet she's a little darling. Must be hard work though?"

Malcolm shrugged. 

"Not really. She's great." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he drew out his phone. Turning it so that Claire could see the screensaver. 

A wee mite with long gingery hair, sitting in a swing seat at a park somewhere, laughing gleefully. 

"Well I never! She's so gorgeous." 

It was expressed as if the woman quite expected any progeny of the Tucker loins to resemble Satan, and she was therefore pleasantly surprised. Malcolm felt his brow crease. 

"Aye well." He responded, tonelessly. "Takes after her mother." 

At that moment a runner bustled in, with a radio mic held to her ear. 

"Mr Tucker, they are ready for you next door." 

It was the perfect moment to beat a hasty retreat. 

Malcolm decided he didn't much care for coming face to face with people from his past life. It ultimately never went well. 

oOo

How odd it felt donning his suit again earlier that afternoon. 

A crisp white cotton shirt. A maroon hanky in his top pocket. 

Like old times. 

His armour. 

Which once served him as protection and defence all at once. 

The long overcoat was needed as it was November. A poppy in the lapel. 

Staring at himself glumly in the mirror. 

Suddenly enveloped from behind by clinging tentacles. 

"What you fretting about? Came the soft voice. "The bad old days?"

"Fuck knows why I agreed to this." He huffed, bringing both hands up and placing them over the pale arms that now surrounded him. 

"Because it's good publicity. It's a positive step, after so long a silence. That's why. Don't regret it now Malc. You've done this a hundred times before. You'll be fine." 

"It's different now. I'm not the same person." He rejoined mournfully. 

He found himself forcefully turned around to face her. Her fingers tucked under his lapels. 

"No, you're better! You're whole. You'll be brilliant. Just remember we love you." Going up on tiptoes she captured his mouth in a searing kiss which made his head feel woozy.  
In the background he could dimly hear Disney songs playing. Something from 'Beauty and the Beast'.  
The irony was not lost on him. 

They separated, she, the love of his life, looking up earnestly into his face. 

"It's just an interview Malc. It'll be over before you know it." 

.............

Malcolm found himself smiling at the memory. 

Staring at himself again, this time in the harshly illuminated make up mirror, as he sat, a captive in the rise and fall leather chair. Hands gripping the armrests while he was subjected to the indignity of pan-stick. 

Just in his shirt sleeves, his jacket discarded and hung on the back. 

Pieces of tissue pushed down inside his collar, as the make up woman now proceeded to brush matt powder over his face.  
Pausing to place some concealer on the back of her hand, gently dabbing it beneath each eye to 'hide the bags'.....fucking cheek.....before twirling the bristles over the top like someone from CSI searching for finger prints.  
The fine hair tickled his skin.  
However, it took the shine from his forehead, his nose and the curve of his chin. 

Then her fingers combing pleasingly through his bolt of grey locks. Teasing them gently. 

"Short back and sides please." He quipped. 

Watching the smile spread across her face in the reflection of the mirror. 

"Your hair is amazing." She grinned. 

"Glad I've still got it." Came the rejoinder. "I wear it longer now. Apparently my girlfriend likes it." He winked theatrically.  
No longer did Malcolm have any qualms about calling Liv his girlfriend. Or occasionally his partner.  
He couldn't call her his wife, because she wasn't. Somehow they'd just never got around to it.  
Happy as they were. Their commitment as solid as any marriage. He didn't need to possess her, she didn't require a ring on her finger to know his devotion. There was an end to it. 

"I think you're done." The lass stood back to admire her handiwork. 

"You've made me look ten years younger." He lied. 

As he eased himself from the chair, someone else appeared with his personal mic. 

Before he could really right himself from his seated position he found himself accosted, the girl in question hauling his shirt from his waistband. 

"Fuck me! What are you doing?" He cried, holding his arms out at the sides in surrender, as he was assailed. 

"I'm going to thread the wire up under your shirt, over your left shoulder, then it goes between your buttons and clips to your tie. The mic pack will attach to your trouser belt at the back here out of sight." 

Her briskness annoyed him. 

Yes, she'd undoubtedly done this a thousand times, but not to him. 

"Well you could warn me first!" He exclaimed. "If I did that to you it'd be called assault." 

She gave an eye roll, which annoyed him more. 

It also occurred to him that his back was clammy and sweaty from sitting on the leather seat, although she didn't appear to notice. Her hands like blocks of ice as they ferreted around up inside his clothing. 

"There!" She said, once she'd finished. "That didn't hurt too much did it?"

Malcolm glared. 

"What am I? Five?" He snapped. 

Another eye roll and she was gone. 

...........

The studio was hot. Tropically so. The heat mainly coming from the lights overhead. 

The highly polished floor bustling with people. All carrying out their various tasks before the show went on air. 

Emily Maitlis was standing off to one side, a raft of papers in her hand, speaking earnestly to the director. 

Malcolm had only crossed swords with her a couple of times in the past. She was yet to hit the big heights when he was still in the mosh pit of politics.  
He knew her as a competent and intelligent journalist, well respected in the business, her star having risen sharply since taking over the evening Newsnight slot. 

This however, was her own show. Her baby. Where she interviewed 'celebrities', mainly from the world of politics, in a candid manner, focussing more on their lives outside of the political arena. She therefore attracted those, like Malcolm, who had moved on, or who had reinvented themselves in some way, or had perhaps retired and were looking back over their career highlights retrospectively.  
It made interesting viewing. Ratings were high.  
The bosses at BBC Two were more than happy. 

Spotting him lurking in the wings, Ms Maitlis ended her conversation and came over to join him. 

He shook hands perfunctorily. 

"Evening Malcolm." She smiled. "All set?" 

"I guess." 

The smile faded slightly. 

"Don't worry. I won't be too hard on you. Anything you'd really rather I didn't ask you about?" 

"Yeah. My private life." He responded. "You can talk about my past, my book, my career, anything pretty much, but leave my partner and my daughter out of it. The great British public don't need to know all the details about them." 

His adversary frowned. 

"It's a good angle though. Paints you in a more human light. You know, _'former scourge of Downing Street, now settled with a wife and child_ ', it goes down well with the punters." 

Malcolm grimaced. 

"Sick-making if you ask me. Well, you can mention them, but I'll not elaborate. My private life is just that. Private." 

She smiled again, a tight grin which didn't extend to the rest of her face. 

"Alright. Whatever you say. Well, you'd better get yourself seated.....we're on in five. Oh, and please try to keep the expletives to a minimum, we are after the watershed but there's only so many _fucks_ you can get away with!" 

With almost brusque efficiency she turned away, her heels clicking on the shiny floor. 

Malcolm groaned inwardly. This was a big fucking mistake. He fervently wished he could run a mile. 

oOo

A final few seconds as the lights dimmed and music began to play, starting quietly then gradually building in strength.  
It was what Malcolm referred to as 'finger on the pulse of the Nation' music. All jangling chords and urgent drumbeats.  
His mouth suddenly felt very dry. 

By the time the lights came up again, the hostess was ready to launch into her introduction. 

There was an air of calm savagery about her. The inviting smile of a lurking vampire before it went for the jugular. 

_"Good evening. And welcome to the show....."_

Malcolm watched the autocue slowly scrolling.

"......Tonight our guest is someone who's reputation once went before him. The former Spin Doctor, once the scourge of Downing Street, Head of Communications for Tom Davis's Government. Variously described as Goebbels from Gorbals, and Iago with a BlackBerry, renowned for being outspoken and foul mouthed with it.  
Since then his fortunes have waxed and waned.  
Held accountable for the leak which caused the death of a mental health nurse at the infamous Goolding Enquiry, he was subsequently exonerated and never prosecuted.  
Following this fall from grace, he all but disappeared. Only to re-emerge as a well respected writer, with a best selling memoir under his belt, not to mention a long term partner and child.  
Without further ado, let me introduce Mr Malcolm Tucker.  
Good evening Malcolm, and thank you for coming on the show." 

"It's nice to be here." He lied. 

The intensity of her gaze made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Why did they have these stupid fucking chairs?  
Anyone with long legs like himself had to fold themselves into it just to hold a suitable position. Finding that if he crossed his legs his left hip began to slide forwards and he was in danger of slipping into a crumpled heap on the deck. He was therefore, forced to sit with both feet planted flat, side by side on the floor, knees together, like Little Lord Fauntleroy. Hands in his lap. A contrite child. 

"Well, without further ado, lets begin...." a shuffle of her papers and she was away, launching into her task with a gusto and an unrestrained glee that was quite alarming. 

"...... _'Malcolm Tucker tamed'_......a headline which I saw recently in the Guardian. Is that true?" 

Straight in for the neck bite! Malcolm found himself laughing in spite of himself. 

"Oh aye!" He responded with feeling. "Wings clipped. Neutered. Muzzled. I've seen all those headlines too. Let me assure you, I'm exactly the same person I always was. Honest. Loyal. Hard working. I don't suffer fools gladly and I'm not one to be messed with." 

He raised his eyebrows in a challenging manner. Eyes glinting with a steely determination. 

Right back atcha! 

No! This 'power woman' wasn't going to get the better of him! He'd damn well show her there was fire in the old belly yet! 

His adversary did not appear fazed in the slightest. A slight smirk on her face. 

"I'm glad to hear it. So let's begin with the toughest question of all....your thoughts on Brexit and the referendum result?" 

Throwing back his head, Malcolm Tucker laughed aloud. 

His hands were more relaxed now, elbows leaning on the armrests. Body language subtly changing. Old muscle memory returning. Adrenaline beginning to flow. 

"How long have you got....." 

She could see the mirth in his expression. The waggle of those expressive eyebrows, a hint of a twitch in the jaw. A little enigmatic smile. Seemingly growing larger as he sat forwards slightly. 

Christ! 

She'd heard about him in his heyday but never truly believed it. How he could hold an entire room in the palm of his hand. How he could reduce the toughest of ministers to a heap of gibbering blubber. The cleverness of his foul-mouthed ripostes and his quicksilver mind.  
And here he was.  
Unfurling right before her eyes, like a sleeping dragon, gaining strength, warming up, pulling her in with that fierce mien. 

Other female colleagues had told her they found him attractive when he was being aggressive, she'd never imagined in a million years that she would see it for herself. 

This was going to be tough. Quick fire. Back and forth. No time to think or take a breath. She could see him preparing himself with every subtle movement he made. Mentally and physically she felt herself rise to the inevitable challenge. A battle of wits. Would she emerge triumphant?


	2. Chapter Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interview is in full swing. Emily Maitlis is in for a rough ride!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Malcolm's responses on Brexit are loosely based on the Alan Partridge/Malcolm Tucker skit which appeared in the Big Issue some time ago. Written by Armando Iannucci.
> 
> Other than that, I'm going by the diplomatic way that Peter himself deals with political questions. His responses are always very measured, not outstandingly inflammatory and certainly never unkind. He has a knack of getting his message across without seeming overtly one sided.  
> Malcolm has been around politics for a very long time. He's seen it all. I'm quite sure he'll have strong views on both sides of the political fence and here is his chance to voice them. He's no longer affiliated to any one party, he is, as always staunchly loyal but he can appreciate that things need to change on his own side as well as the other. 
> 
> I've tried to make his views HIS views. They are not my own. I don't discuss my own politics on open forums. Doing so just brings out the bigotry in others and I have no wish to enter into those kind of exchanges. So please bear in mind that my interpretation of Malcolm is just that, an interpretation. It may not agree with yours, but that's absolutely fine.

CHAPTER TWO 

".......Brexit will be like committing suicide by walking into door over and over again for years."

"So people who voted Leave are imbeciles?" 

Malcolm glared at his adversary as if she were a drunk on the street and he'd just witnessed her mugging an old lady. Under that baleful stare, she visibly shrank.

"Not at all. They voted on what they were asked. The question was far too simplistic. In or Out. But what does that mean? No concrete information was given by either side. Don't blame the electorate or say they're stupid for voting for what they were offered." 

"So you think there should have been more depth of facts in the run up?"

An exaggerated eye roll. 

"Of course! More honesty for a start. Facts. Does leaving mean we cut ties with Europe completely? Do we want to turn back the clock? If so, how far? The fifties perhaps? .....yes, lets recreate the mid 20th century! Where we can all have our blue passports back and rebuild a slave-economy Empire! Let us return to St Mary Mead, where the postmistress is a little pink faced old lady who once lived in Rhodesia. Ye Olde England where there was Bulldog spirit! Where men were men and their women glad of it!"

He paused just long enough for an intake of breath. But not long enough to allow his interviewer to butt in.

"Or do we prefer a kind of cordial companionship with our European neighbours? A Norway scenario where we carry on paying into the pot and cherry pick the best bits without a full commitment? A bit like an on/off open affair where the couple are free to see other people?" 

Scattered laughter from the audience, yet it did not put him off his stride. 

"We were never told. Never asked to consider various possibilities. Fed a bunch of half truths, promises of utopia or downright lies and scare mongering by both sides. Then asked to put a cross in a box! Fucking madness!" 

Emily winced at the expletive, but ploughed on regardless. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her director face palming. 

"So how do you see the Government delivering on the result?" 

"I don't."

His bluntness was so disarming! 

"Why not?" 

"Because having asked the crappy question, they now don't like the answer they've got. Déjà vu for me, that is!"

"You think they were certain the result would be to remain?"

"Of course. That's why that fucking shiny faced human conker Cameron resigned. Jumped overboard as soon as he saw the situation. Like the plague ridden rat he is. Now we face years of bickering over what to do next. Because even though there was a majority of 'the people' who voted to leave, their elected representatives in Government don't really want to. It's not a _'Party'_ thing either...." Malcolm made speech marks in the air with his fingers over the word 'party', ".......there are leavers and remainers in both the larger parties. But now they are all terrified for their own skins. It's no longer about who's right or wrong, left or right, yes or no, it's about self preservation and power seeking. They are reduced to bickering amongst themselves. They'll never agree because it's not in their own interest to do so. They don't give a damn about the country or what's going to happen, they only care about themselves. _'We'_ can all go to hell in a handcart."

At the end of his sentence Malcolm sat back in his chair, crossed his legs at the knee and gave a look that said _'so there_ '. His mouth a hard line of barely disguised contempt. 

"So, in your opinion, where does the fault lie?" 

"The fault lies with parliament for couching the referendum in those ambiguous terms and then not wanting to deliver on the result when they got it."

"So should we have a second vote do you think?" 

A heavy sigh, shoulders drooping slightly. 

"Actually, no I don't." 

Now this really surprised her. This Malcolm Tucker, with his raft of facial expressions, his defiant and/or passive body language, this man wasn't whom she expected at all. He was a confusing conundrum and no mistake! She couldn't keep her own carefully plucked eyebrows from shooting up at his response. 

"Really?"

"Really. Asking for another people's vote won't solve the problem, because either way it will cause mayhem. Those who voted to leave and won first time round won't get what they voted for. Would you be happy? 17.5 million people voted Out....I predict a riot! There'll be fucking anarchy." 

Another wince. The director in the booth shaking his head in despair. 

"But wouldn't that be the most democratic thing to do?"

Malcolm sighed a second time. 

"The word _'democracy_ ' is bandied about quite a bit. But the vote....however flawed, _was_ democratic. Therefore the result stands. Or at least it should. You have a vote. You abide by the outcome. You don't keep voting until you get the result 'you' want. I also happen to think that those who voted to remain are completely convinced they'll win the second time round.....but what if the result is still to leave? Do we then have another vote? And another? And if the outcome is the same, what has changed? We are right back where we started." 

Maitlis leaned forward holding the piercing gaze, shuffling her question papers. 

"Do you think the public is losing faith in politicians because of this?" 

"Without a doubt. They've shown time and time again that they can't be trusted to deliver anything. Empty promises. Public confidence has been slowly waning since the expenses scandal. Now it's plummeting into oblivion."

"But surely they are trying to bring the people together?"

An ironic scoff. 

"Yes. Brexit has indeed brought together a diverse community of fellow travellers. Much as a cancer ward might......" 

Leaning forward himself, Malcolm reached out his long bony fingers, wrapping them around the tumbler on the table at his knee, taking a long sip from the glass of slightly metallic tasting luke warm water. Evidently somewhat pleased with his own ribald humour. The pause served to heighten the suspense before he sat back in his chair and continued, as Emily almost held her breath.

".......for instance....." he swallowed again, drawing out the moment, ".......Brexiteers want to close our borders. Yet they love free trade. How do you square these two positions? Seems to me you want to have your cake and eat it......then puke it back up, sell it back to the cake shop at a profit, then deport the baker........"

Another ripple of laughter from the invited audience. 

"But don't you think that free movement of people across borders was more of an issue for some voters than movement of goods?" 

"Undoubtedly. But I don't think many of those who voted Leave considered what they'd do when their physiotherapist was sent back to Montenegro! I'm aware that 'Project Fear' was a strong motivator behind many voting to end free movement. But when all our EU guests depart, who will pick the fruit in the orchards or the asparagus in the fields? Who will fix your leaky shower head or empty your bedpan?" 

He paused, mid flow, his head coming forward on an extended neck, so that the beaky nose seemed to come closer, hawklike, bright green eyes wide with enthusiasm. Bent on his quarry. Round he came again, like a game of swingball. Delivering the next punch. 

"Ah well!" He continued sarcastically, "Even though we'll be starving and unwashed, surrounded by overflowing turdpans, we can congratulate ourselves with our _'I'm not a racist, but'_ attitude can't we? Return to a cozy pre-war Little Britain .....and.....if sterling is still worth fuck all....treat ourselves to an old fashioned one pound seven ounces.....none of that damn kilogram nonsense mind....of bananas shipped from our Commonwealth dominions." 

"A pretty bleak outlook I have to say. Do you have no hope for the future of the UK?"

The expression changed in a moment. Wistful. Contemplative. Malcolm became thoughtful. His demeanour more gentle.

"I have to don't I? I have to believe things will work out. That some modicum of sense will prevail. That there are some politicians out there who genuinely give a shit about this country. Like all members of each particular generation I want a better world for my daughter. I want her to have a future. I wouldn't be a normal parent if I didn't want that would I?" 

"I was going to ask you about parenthood, about being a father. Has it changed you at all?" 

For a moment the face clouded and she thought she'd angered him. 

_'Don't lose him now'_ her brain told her, ' _not just as he's really getting into his stride_ '. This was damn good stuff, top notch, he was performing wonderfully. 

The blackness, however, seemed to pass over his head like a wave, sunlight breaking through, slowly lifting, his gaze rising from where it was focussed on a point on the floor just at his feet. Meeting hers. Holding the connection so strongly that she felt an uncomfortable prickle at the back of her neck. 

"I'm not sure." The reply showed a certain vulnerability. "You'd have to ask my girlfriend. Am I still passionate about stuff? Yes. Am I still regretful about certain things? Yes. Would I change anything given a second chance? No! So I guess the answer is 'no'. Not fundamentally. We all have a past. Scars. Mental and physical. But my life is different now. It's been enriched. It's not just me I have to think about all the time. I don't work until I can't stand up any more. My priorities have changed dramatically. I now have people who rely on me, and I rely on them. So I suppose that alters you a little. Mellows perhaps. But not deep down. I'm still Malcolm Tucker." 

"I'm sure we are all grateful for that!" Maitlis replied jauntily.

His gaze centred on her face, head tilted to one side slightly as if questioning. Was she taking the piss?  
For a second he seemed to stall and she sensed an imminent angry exchange. But the moment passed and he diminished, a quiet _'tut'_ the only signal he may be annoyed. 

"I'm sure there are plenty who'd disagree, but hey, they don't know Jack about me. Nowt I can do about that. I've never tried to be anything other than myself. What's in the past is in the past and can't be changed." 

"I wanted to move on in a moment and ask you a little about your former life, but before I do I must ask you, briefly, what you think about our present Prime Minister?" 

Malcolm didn't hesitate. Seemingly relieved for the focus to no longer be upon himself. 

"Can't stand the woman! But I feel sorry for her if I'm honest." 

Again he'd surprised her, but this time she hid her reaction more effectively. 

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Well, Lord knows I could never be accused of being a Tory, but she was voted in to do a job which was virtually impossible right from the start. It was a mess she'd inherited from the useless bag of giblets that was her predecessor. From that moment on she would never win no matter what she did. She was asked to negotiate the best deal she could. She tried to do that. Parliament wouldn't accept it. Consistently voting it down. Even if she'd won the most fantastic deal conceivable, they would still not vote for it, because they wanted her to fail. They wanted it all to fail. They didn't want ANY deal. They all have individual ideas of what their own personal Brexit should be! Divide and conquer mentality. After that she just stood there against the wall, blindfolded, pissing her knickers, while they all fired shots at her and congratulated themselves that it wasn't them in her position. But not one of them would have taken her place for the world. She'll be remembered as this awful person who failed miserably, and I don't think that's quite fair really. So, yeah, she might be a human icicle, but I do feel a tad sorry for her."

"And the opposition leader? What of him? Could he negotiate a better deal? Be a better leader?"

Malcolm frowned sourly.

"Corbyn? Jesus Christ in a Nando's! Not in a million years!" 

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because he has all the charm of week old road kill. He's like a poodle sniffing another dog's backside. Sycophantic. Even a large portion of his own party can't abide him. I haven't forgiven him for trying to score political points in the wake of the Grenfell disaster. Bad form. Trying to apportion blame to the present government for what amounts to decades of successive government failures. Time and a place, you know?" 

At this point Malcolm's hand made a claw fist, emphasising his point. A gesture of what? Outrage? Disbelief? Disappointment? She wasn't sure and was about to interrupt to ask when he quickly carried on.

"Also, as a statesman you have to sometimes meet people you don't necessarily like in order to improve relations or just to try to reach a common ground. It's the job. Now, we all know that Trump is a total cock-womble but by refusing to meet him, Corbyn showed that he doesn't have what it takes to be a Prime Minister, a leader, where diplomacy is paramount. You can't go around snubbing the President of the United States, however much you dislike him, especially whilst at the same time cozying up to Hamas or praising the likes of a Venezuelan dictator. Three million people have fled that country since Maduro took over from Chavez. Jesus!" 

"So you don't think he has what it takes to be a Statesman?" 

"Fuck no! Look at it this way. Her Majesty the Queen had to meet and shake hands with Martin McGuinness. The Sinn Fein leader who was probably partly responsible for blowing up Mountbatten. Fuck me! That woman's got guts! What must that have cost her? And there's Corbyn throwing a hissy fit saying he wouldn't meet Donald Trump. It didn't make him look like he was making a strong defiant stand, it made him look like a pathetic petulant child.  
God knows, in my time, Tom Davis had his faults but at least he knew how to foster alliances with other world leaders. He also knew how to deal with dissent amongst his own, and with his failure to address anti-semitism in the Party, Corbyn has shown that he is as much good as a slug in a lettuce patch. It's fucking sad." 

Emily Maitlis felt it was high time to move on. He was swearing too much. She could sense a growing unease in both her audience and those behind the protective glass of the booth above her. The exchange must not be allowed to run away with itself. Time to rein him in a little. Calm things down. 

"Okay. Well that's a pretty comprehensive answer. Let's turn now, if we may, to your career, more specifically the infamous Goolding Inquiry. You said earlier, if I recall, that not liking the answer was a déjà vu moment for you, and I'd like you to clarify your meaning on that. I know it more or less finished you. Were you a scapegoat? How did the aftermath ultimately affect you? How did you survive it to emerge unscathed?" 

"Jeez! So many questions in one! It's like being on Question Time. Dimbleby isn't in the house is he?" 

Malcolm glanced urgently about him in an exaggeratedly fearful manner. A twinkle of humour in his eyes.  
The audience tittered at his response.  
Letting go it's collective breath. 

This had certainly been a rollercoaster ride so far. 

But this was the infamous Malcolm Tucker. She never expected a picnic!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is thinking back to before the interview began. 
> 
> Emily Maitlis tackles him over the Goolding Enquiry and the end of his career.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I've actually written something!  
> I'm sorry that it's taking me so long. 
> 
> I just haven't been able to put pen to paper. But now I have I'm hoping to kick start anew!

CHAPTER THREE 

It was not a well known fact, but Malcolm Tucker struggled with night time. 

Quite when it started he wasn't aware. He couldn't recall a problem as a younger man, nor as a married one.  
Somehow, once he was left alone, the phenomena slowly crept upon him. 

To fill the void in his life, he worked. And drank. 

The thought of going home to his empty house gradually became more and more abhorrent. 

So he stayed later and later at the office. Or went to bars. 

Drinking seemed to numb him, helped him forget. 

Falling into bed, smashed, meant he slept.......at least for a while. 

His solitude consumed him. Just as surely as if the life blood were being drained from his body. 

The dogged weariness of one whose struggle was almost constant. 

Since deciding to become sober, the nights were always the worst. 

Without the prop of alcohol he found it difficult to survive the hours of darkness. 

At home he worked on the computer, paced the floor restlessly. Finally falling into bed when he couldn't put off the moment any longer. 

Longing for daylight. 

Then he met Liv. 

Bringing order and purpose to his life. 

She helped him through the very darkest times. From his run in with Steve Fleming, to his ultimate political beheading.  
Throughout his return to the arena, his descent back into the dungeon that was booze, the dark two years in coalition limbo and finally the Goolding Enquiry. Right by his side. 

Ever constant. Ever patient. Without her he simply could not see a way forward. 

Everything changed again with the birth of his daughter. 

Promised himself never to relapse again. If ever he needed a motivator to remain sober, it was becoming a father. 

Yet his nocturnal somnambulant tendencies didn't fade. 

Night after night he was happy to do the 3am feed. It covered the fact that he wasn't asleep anyway. 

When he did sleep, he dreamed. 

Latterly these dreams were mostly centred around the Goolding Enquiry. Probably because that event marked the most momentous upheaval in his life. 

Leaving the political stage left him fearful. 

He was afraid of relapse. Terrified of inactivity. What the fuck would he do with himself? 

It was a sharp learning curve. 

The Enquiry left him traumatised. Not in the way that perhaps a soldier might experience PTSD but there was no doubt that the distressing event, the deep emotion it stirred within him, left him damaged and struggling more than he could ever have imagined. 

His instinct was not to dwell. To push the thoughts and worries, the guilt and rage behind him and try to carry on.  
To a certain extent he succeeded but there was always a small part of him that suffered daily torment. 

Time after time he relived his grilling by the panel. The twists and turns as they sought to nail him to the cross.  
In his mind he churned over and over his own words and those of the other member of both parties.  
Things he 'coulda shoulda woulda' have said. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.  
He knew in his heart there was nothing he could have done to save himself. He knew what he'd done and what he hadn't done.  
One consolation was that he'd told the truth. In fact he was really the only one that had done so.  
It galled him that certain people were never called to the stand. 

And so here he was. 

In the silent silvery moonlight which peeped in through the kitchen window. 

Head buzzing in that familiar way. Fuzzy and uncoordinated. Heavy lidded and unsteady on his feet.  
Making himself chamomile tea. 

Clock ticking like a metronome on the wall only serving to remind him that he should be blissfully at rest.  
Only moments before he'd poked his head around the bedroom door of his little girl.  
His Alice.  
She was lying flat on her back, legs and arms akimbo. The chewed and mangled plush rabbit, BoBo, next to her in the crook of her elbow, and her favourite blankey close to her fiery red head.  
Smiling inwardly he crept in. Covered her gently and placed a kiss on her cool forehead.  
She didn't stir. 

The light of his life. 

Her slumber was untroubled and thankfully unconcerned with the cares of the day. 

Oh to be that innocent again! 

Sipping the hot fragrant tea, he stared sightlessly out of the kitchen window and across the palely lit garden. Dimly able to make out the swing and slide, the little play house, a stray ball coming into focus, a discarded and abandoned bike.  
All the accoutrements of a young child. Barely five. 

Reflecting on how fucking lucky he was. 

A tiny sound behind him made him turn. 

Liv standing blearily in the doorway. Dressing gown tied haphazardly around her middle, hair a birds nest of curls and tangles.  
Yawning, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

"Malcolm it's 4am! What the fuck are you doing down here all alone?" 

"Couldn't sleep."

She came to him then, leaning into him and laying her weary head against the warmth of his chest. Arms snaking around his waist. 

"When will this end?" She murmured into his pyjama top. "When will you admit you have a problem and seek some help?" 

"I just can't sleep is all." 

"Malcolm, your body clock is totally fucked. Years of late nights and early mornings. You are a mass of worry and stress. You take in far much too much caffeine. You are tapping away on the computer much too late into the night. Please darling. For your own sanity, go to the Doctor." 

Beneath her ear she felt a deep sigh. 

"I don't want fucking pills." He snapped."I'm not going to be half doped up on Temazepam for years to come."

Drawing away from him so that she could look up into his face, she touched his cheek softly with her fingers. 

"You don't need pills Malc. There's a sleep clinic at the local hospital. He can refer you. They will be able to give you sound advice about changing your habits, strategies to combat the insomnia." Up on tip toes she went to kiss him.  
"Now please come back to bed. We'll talk about an appointment in the morning." 

oOo

"So, let's move on now Malcolm and talk a little about the end of your career." 

Malcolm returned to the present with a jolt. 

The lights burned the top of his head, making him feel drowsy and ever so slightly nauseous. Like he'd been sitting in the June sun for too long.  
Tiny beads of sweat broke on his top lip.  
Passing the side of his hand beneath his nose he wiped away the offending moisture. 

"Can't think that there's much to say that hasn't already been said on the front page of a hundred newspapers or countless articles and news flashes." He responded with a sigh, shifting himself slightly in the godawful leather chair. 

"Then this is your opportunity to set the record straight. Give your version of events. Do you think the Enquiry was fair with you for instance?"

Malcolm laughed. 

The sound was almost a cackle, one of derision and mockery. 

"Goolding decided early on that there was no way he could do or change anything about the culture of leaking. He knew that everyone was doing it. He knew that government functioned and relied on leaks and the only way he could address that situation was to blame someone. He chose me. I leave it to the audience and the listeners to decide if that was fair or not!" 

"But why you?"

"Because I was dispensable. My so called colleagues and opponents made up their minds that I'd outlived my usefulness. I was no longer required. They had no grounds to sack me, but what they could do was conspire together to lay the blame for the death of a Health Worker at my door. The line of questioning was such that everyone had ample opportunity to point the finger. And that's what they did. Not a fucking thing I could do about it. Except sit there and take it. So that's what I did Emily. I sat there and I took the blows and I let them finish me. That's all there is to it." 

Maitlis noticed the pallor which seemed to creep across his skin. Almost grey suddenly. He seemed to pale even as she watched him.  
Jaw set and hardened. Eyes steely and flint like. His fingers drummed against the arms of the chair as he spoke.  
No irritation, no anger actually, just a kind of dogged acceptance, resignation and a deep sorrow. 

"You _let_ them finish you? Your reputation is for fury in the face of such things! So why did you just capitulate and not fight back? Was it because you knew you were guilty and accepted the fact?"

Malcolm gave a scoff.

"Fuck no! I was no more guilty than anyone in that room. But I knew the game was up. I knew that no matter what I said or how I tried to explain or give my side that they simply weren't listening. They'd got their cannon fodder. They needed one person to take the wrap and thereby save the rest. Otherwise they would have been forced to widen the enquiry to include half the government, the opposition and the civil service! Can you imagine the repercussions of that? Far better to put one person to the sword before scurrying away and let the matter quietly fade into the ether. Collateral damage. One sacrificial lamb to save all the rest." 

Leaning forward he took a long draft of water. Like a dying man in the desert slaking his thirst on the only drop of liquid he can find.  
He looked so devoid of colour now that his interviewer was afraid he was going to fall out of the chair in a dead faint. 

"I can see the experience had an effect on you." She remarked, more gently and less briskly than she had ever done on any previous occasion to her knowledge. 

The softening was because of him.  
She almost checked herself, but then refrained.  
Christ!  
He was right! And she felt bloody sorry for him. Although she never expected to.  
She'd seen the transcripts of the Goolding Enquiry. Done the research. He'd been hung on a post and left to die. But she'd thought it was what he deserved.  
Now she knew that he was human, just like everyone else. What had happened to him had been downright disgusting. 

"I said it at the time, I recall." Malcolm interposed. "They couldn't cuff a country. So they laid into me. I was fair game. I had made a lot of enemies, so was fair game. In one fell swoop they could exonerate themselves and rid themselves of a thorn in their side all at the same time. Worked a treat!"

"You were vilified in the press. The media laid into you too. I remember the headlines." 

"Yeah, well. Nothing I could do about that. No one knows the press better than me! Head of Communications all that time! It was nothing I didn't foresee. I suppose I had it coming."

"But you never came out and fought back. Even when the Crown Prosecution Service decided you had no case to answer.....you remained silent. You could have had a field day. Made them all eat their words....." 

Her voice tailed away as she realised her questioning now sounded more like a plea. The tide had completely turned.  
She'd lost that air of superiority which she always sought to hold on to.  
Not only had he won her over, he'd somehow managed to work the studio audience round to his side too. Audible gasps and groans had gone up during this round of questioning. 

"What would have been the point? They'd had their pound of flesh. There was nothing more they could do to me. I was finished politically, but I still had a shred of my own integrity remaining. My silence meant more than anything I could ever have said. I was done with them. I was free. Under no restraint and beholden to no one. Besides, I was happier by then than I'd ever been in my life. I didn't give a fuck anymore." 

"It must have been hard to walk away though?" 

A little spot of red had reappeared on each of the Tucker cheeks as he rallied. As the thought of what he now had dispelled the darkness of those post enquiry days. 

"Not nearly as hard as it would have been had I been alone. But you see, that's just it. Some good came out of it. I have a partner and a child now. They mean more to me than any thought of revenge or retribution. Besides I didn't want to bring the media spotlight onto my home life. Instead I decided to channel all that negativity into the memoir. I'm very glad I did. It was my way of saying, 'this is my side of the story, believe what you will'. It was cathartic. Apparently it did the trick!" 

The familiar twinkle was back. 

"I've read your book and I must say it's very well written. It's now been on the best seller list top 100 for almost two years. You certainly didn't pull any punches." 

"I was honest. Brutally so. To myself as much as anyone else. I'm no saint. I never said I was. But I didn't lie. I told the truth. I always have. People can decide for themselves whether I'm a villain or not. It's up to them."

"It's a scathing attack on political narcissism to be sure." 

"It's a world that breeds narcissists. No one is ever wrong. Everyone is out for themselves and they'll stab anyone in the back to be popular and accepted. They'll say anything they think you want to hear whislt pretending to be your friend.....until you say something they don't like or stand up for yourself. Then it's knives out! They'll slate you to anyone who'll listen. Call you all the names under the sun whilst carefully moving the onus away from themselves. Classic. There's almost as many narcissists in politics as on social media. And in both circumstances the best way to deal with them is to get the hell out. Out of their circle of influence. Out of their wee gang. Attempting to put the record straight is fruitless, they'll just put up their fists and come out punching all the harder. Silence is far better. That way you don't give them what they want. More fuel against you. You deny them the fight that they so desperately crave." 

Emily Maitlis leaned back in her chair and regarded Malcolm Tucker with a renewed sense of respect.  
Once again he'd succeeded in surprising her.  
Yet she felt she'd only picked up a vague idea of what he'd really been through and was keen to probe further. 

How to go about this without antagonising him? That was the next challenge.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily Maitlis is attempting to steer Malcolm towards more personal subjects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final episode. Thank you for reading!

CHAPTER FOUR.

The server behind the counter in the coffee shop looked up as Malcolm entered. It wasn't busy inside, being the mid afternoon lull. 

Her smile was one of slight bemusement. Malcolm had seen that look so many times before. The glance that said _'don't I know you from somewhere? Are you on the telly? 'I'm a celebrity' or whatever?'_

"What can I get you?" She enquired, still quizzical. 

"Double expresso and some hot milk please." Leaning back to peer inside the glass display case, Malcolm pointed.  
"And one of those too." 

"Almond croissant?" 

"Yeah. Thanks." 

"Is that to eat in or take away?" 

"Eat in please." 

Turning away the girl wiped her hands on her floral apron before taking down a clean cup and cranking the coffee machine. Whilst her customer occupied himself by staring idly about him, fumbling in his inside pocket for his credit cards. 

The studio was only around the corner but he'd asked the taxi driver to drop him some distance away to allow him a walk to calm his nerves.  
Seeing the little coffee shop was a bonus. There was still plenty of time. 

Only a couple of tables were occupied, so, taking his plate, he chose a corner furthest away from his fellow diners. 

"I'll bring your drink over." Said his host congenially. 

Why had he agreed to this dratted interview? Even now he wasn't sure. Was it perhaps to dispel some lingering demons? Or to put his side of the story?  
Who could say. 

He'd begun to regret it almost as soon as he'd responded to the inquiring email.  
Oh well! Too late now. 

So deep in thought was he that he scarcely noticed the girl as she stood at his side, cup in hand.  
Her face was still questioning, one eyebrow slightly raised. 

"Don't mind me asking, "she began, "but are you that guy off Gogglebox?" Her tone somewhat tentative. 

"No!" Malcolm snapped curtly. 

Since he offered no further clue, she placed his coffee beside his croissant with a huff of annoyance and walked away, the crease in her brow furrowed even more. 

Malcolm ignored her. Leaning back to enjoy these final moments before he was laid bare for public perusal. 

oOo 

The audience applause in response to his reply to the last question rippled gradually to a hush. 

Malcolm felt his cheeks burning....with what? Embarrassment? Pride? 

Perhaps a little of both. 

He wasn't used to being liked. Or agreed with! 

"You seem to have found a few fans!" Emily Maitlis remarked, a wry smile flitting across her face. 

A noncommittal shrug was the only reply. 

"We'll move on in these final few minutes remaining, to talk about your life now. Clearly it has changed a good deal. For the better would you say?" 

"I imagine you already know the answer to that!" The retort was sharp but not unkind. The unmistakable twinkle hadn't faded. 

"So what have you been doing with yourself since leaving the political arena?" 

Gentle probing. That was the way with Mr Tucker. Not too direct. Coax him into revealing something about himself that he might otherwise keep private. It was all a game. 

One that both players were rather good at. 

Glancing up she met the steely gaze with confidence. Almost bravado.  
Yet she detected no freezing of manner, no hard stare of annoyance, just a wistful look which softened his face pleasingly. The eyes focussed completely upon her in that unnerving way he had of giving someone total attention. 

"Writing. Obviously." He said after a pause. "And making a life. Not something I really had before." 

"That must have been tough?" 

His long fingered, elegant hands came together almost as if in prayer. Fingertip touching fingertip. She could see him considering his reply carefully. 

"The writing? Or the making a life?" He said, eventually. 

He was trying to throw her off, she knew it. Disarm her. Neutralise. 

"Well, making the life obviously. The writing I imagine coming fairly easily to one as used to communicating as yourself. It was your job after all. However, I can see that forging a new path might be quite a struggle for you." 

She'd opened a pathway. Cleverly. Manipulating him. Bringing him into her sphere of influence. His brow was creased now, his jaw slack. A click of the tongue against his teeth. A nod, almost imperceptible. 

"I've had my struggles, certainly. Everyone does. But I'm lucky. I had friends. People who cared. That's half the battle." 

"Struggles?" 

Sitting back in the chair, regarding her opponent over the top of her clipboard, a little thrill passed through her. Raising goosebumps on her skin. 

His response was accompanied by a slight incline of the head, rather like a curious bird. The large nose poking forwards, a protracted sigh. 

"I'm sure you'd love me to say I was off my head on drugs, or ready to hang myself from the yardarm but I'm afraid that's not the case. But it's certainly true that I drank too much, I and thousands like me, but fortunately I realised it was becoming a problem and sought help. I've had support and love along the way and I've got it sorted now. I'm not ashamed of it. Why should I be? It is what it is." 

Well! Here was a turn up for the books and no mistake!  
The last thing Emily had expected was a revelation like this.  
Her shocked expression could not be hidden. 

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? 

Just how serious had this 'drank too much' been? 

A tense silence descended on the audience now, as if they were holding their collective breath. Not a cough or a rustle was audible. 

Completely knocked sideways by his disarming honesty, it took a moment to gather herself together. 

"So what are you saying? You were an alcoholic?" 

A shrug of almost nonchalance. 

"Still am. You always are. It's an illness. You don't cure it, but you learn to keep it under control. I've promised myself since becoming a father that I'll never drink again, and I'm doing everything I can to make sure I stick to that.its more important to me now than anything else I've ever achieved or done in my life." 

Still reeling, Maitlis struggled to regain the initiative, but before she could, Malcolm continued. His voice quieter, the strong Glaswegian burr dialled down several notches.  
His calmness and resignation appeared to wash down, a wave of relief and self belief passing over her from him, rendering her mute. 

"Drinking was a prop. It held me up. The pressure. The hours. The job and everything it entailed. Always watching my back, always alert and ready. It's a mine field. But then I realised it wasn't working any more. As I say, I was lucky. But I'll reach out to anyone out there who is fighting the same fight. Don't do it alone. Get help. Take advantage of the support network that's out there. The AA, your GP, anyone, there are organisations and help lines set up to give you that shoulder to lean on. It could be the best decision you ever make in your life. It was for me." 

Even Malcolm didn't know why the fuck he'd said it. What on earth had possessed him?  
Something hit him, even as he sat there. Even as he was being questioned. In spite of everything he'd insisted on before the interview began.  
Suddenly here was an opportunity. 

If he could get one person to make a call or seek help, wasn't that worth it? 

Someone who felt right now, as desperate and alone as he did back then. 

In the end it wasn't a difficult decision to make at all. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. 

The change in his face was marked. Lighter. More relaxed. Nothing mattered now. He's thrown it out there.  
He just hoped it would help someone. 

It made him feel freer than he had for years. 

"When I worked all the hours God sent," he continued, "when I barely knew night from day, and when I seemed to be holding back the tide of shit with my finger in the dyke, it seemed then that it was all there was. Now I know that isn't true.  
Now I have a daughter, people who are there for me. I don't need that buzz anymore, I don't need to immerse myself in my own fucking self pity. My old job drained every ounce of anything good from me. It made me into someone that even I no longer recognised.  
Sometimes 'life' has a way of kicking you up the arse. Making you see what you're missing. And sometimes you need to sink that low before you can begin to strike out for the surface and rise up again.  
It doesn't matter to me who knows about it now. It's part of me and I shouldn't deny or try to hide it.  
I have so many people to thank that I'm sitting here, a whole person, today. They know who they are. I'm so completely thankful to them. I'm a very lucky man." 

Visibly flustered, and not a little teary, Emily placed her clipboard aside. 

"Well I'm sure there are many out there who will appreciate you speaking out. Your honesty. I'm sure you realise you'll be on all the front pages tomorrow morning!" 

Malcolm laughed heartily. Throwing his head back, shoulders shaking. 

"Nothing new there then!" His smile was wide and toothy. "This time though, it's publicity for a cause that's dear to my heart. So I'll take the blows willingly. Thousands of people struggle daily, as I have, they might just be prompted to seek help. Whatever else the press print I no longer care. They can't touch me anymore. They had their pound of flesh long ago. They ripped me to shreds. By the end of the week they'll have moved on to someone else. It's not all about leaks and exposé's. Not all self exposure and titillation. Sometimes the press can be used for good. It's called good karma." 

From the directors booth the windup signal was urgently relayed into her earpiece. 

Smiling, Maitlis began, not to say the words she'd originally planned as a finishing round up, but words which came completely off the cuff. 

"Well, Malcolm Tucker! It's been a pleasure to have you on tonight's show. I must say that any preconceptions I may have harboured about you before our meeting have been well and truly blown out of the water! I'm sure the studio audience will also show their appreciation. So I'll end by thanking you for coming on this evening and for being a great guest. I wish you all the best and continued luck in the future." 

Before Malcolm could respond, the audience members began a ripple of applause, which grew in volume and momentum until most were standing. Thunderous and sustained, the sound echoed to the rafters. 

All Malcolm could do was raise a hand and nod, mouthing a self effacing 'thank you' several times over. His cheeks glowing. 

As the lights dimmed, the end music filtered in and the credits could be seen rolling on the monitor in front of the pair, he waved both arms and rose to leave. 

It was over. 

oOo 

Malcolm was exhausted but happy. 

Relieved that the ordeal was over, and that all the shite was finally out in the open. Speaking it's name had somehow cleansed him. 

He really didn't want to be a part of the post show mingling. He just wanted to get home to his family. 

But some contact was unavoidable. 

Hearty congratulations. 

Back patting. Hand shaking. 

The assistant demic-ing him with a flourish. 

A quick clean of the face by the makeup lady, a glass of water for his parched mouth and he was finally free to go. 

oOo 

Stepping into his own home hallway he was immediately rushed upon and enveloped by Liv. 

Barely able to contain herself, eyes filled with tears. 

Arms tight around his neck. Face buried into his shoulder. 

"I love you Malcolm Tucker!" She whispered. "And I'm so proud of you." 

"Thank fuck that's over! Christ I could do with a drink!" 

She released him with a burst of laughter. 

"Tea or coffee?" She giggled. 

"It'll have to be tea I suppose." He grimaced. "Since a Scotch on the rocks is out of the question." 

Following her to the kitchen, she held on to his hand. 

"Tired?" 

"Fucking knackered! I'll take the cuppa up to bed." 

Unable to resist the temptation, at the top of the stairs, Malcolm peeped in on his sleeping daughter. 

Alice was curled up in a ball with her favourite blanket tucked around her. The glow from her night light just enough to see by. 

Bending, he kissed the sleeping form. 

"Sleep tight precious." He whispered. "Your daddy loves you more than anything else in the world." 

She didn't stir, so Malcolm tiptoed away along the landing to his own room, where Liv was already in bed, waiting. 

Undressing with a yawn, he climbed in by her side. 

"Well. That's that!" He said, his arms snaking tightly around her. 

"This is the first day of the rest of my life." 

Fin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support and messages etc, sorry there have been such long gaps between posting. 
> 
> Thanks to a message from @HeartDoctor I'm now going to embark on a one shot story of Malcolm, Sam and the children enduring lockdown.  
> It'll be humorous and, hopefully, enjoyable.  
> So please look out for that to come. Xxx


End file.
